Strong Enough to Forget
by FullMetal Alchemistress
Summary: (POST CA:TWS) Bucky visits a bar from his past life shortly after the events in DC. There he learns the fate of a significant person from his past.


_THE ONLY DISCLAIMER I WILL EVER WRITE: This is a oneshot written by my friend Ryan who does not have a fanfiction account thus I am posting it for him._

_Review to show appreciation for his first posted oneshot :D_

**Strong Enough to Forget**

Smoke, it smelled like smoke. Not the recent kind, but years of it soaking into every fiber of wood in the building. Even with the smoking being banned in most bars, which Bucky still thought was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard, this place still carried that flavor of countless butts covering the room.

He wore a dirty brown bomber jacket and a blue baseball cap that he'd been able to snag out of the back of a truck after the Helicarriers fell, it covered his face and arm nicely. He needed to stay covered. It had only been a week since shield's destruction and while the agency itself had fallen apart, local authorities were still on the lookout.

He sat himself down at the bar, the place was deserted. It was a dive to begin with and with everything happening it was no surprise that it was empty in the middle of the afternoon. Low hanging light with green shades barely lit the place, all the furniture was old wood cracking with age. The bar-top itself was wooden and the only decent piece of furniture in the place. It was old and heavy oak, deep brown and covered in the battle scars earn from years of relentless service.

The sound of a door swinging open attracted his attention. A middle aged man in a green apron was slightly startled seeing Bucky by the bar. Bucky noted the old man's hand sliding towards something behind his back. The old man paused and then relaxed, chuckling at something to himself. His white mustache curling at both ends.

"Forgive my manners, getting a bit paranoid in my old age. Wasn't sure I heard the door." The older man walked with a spry step, his gray pony tailed hair bobbing along with him. He slid behind the bar and towards Bucky, who had barely moved since the man entered—only enough to keep his eyes on him.

"What can I get you?" He smiled, too happy to be working in a shithole like this, Bucky thought to himself.

"Something strong." Bucky was still not used to speaking with his own voice, it came out rough and cracked.

"Tough week," he added in, throwing in his best attempt at a smile. Master of subtly, that James Buchanan Barnes. The old man nodded, leaning under the bar to grab a glass. He came up holding two glasses and a couple old looking bottles.

"Yeah you said it. Three flying space castles shot each other out of the sky, the biggest national security force we have was secretly being run by Nazis, and someone broke one of my stools." He stopped speaking to mix the drinks. He moved with purpose, every move practiced and performed a hundred times smooth and without hesitation. He poured the concoction and served it between the two glasses, pushing one towards Bucky.

"You can't just replace those things. My father opened this place in the twenties and I try to keep it as close to the original as possible," the old man said almost to himself. Bucky sniffed the drink as he pulled it to himself, old habit in case of poison. It burned his nostrils, smelled like motor oil. Strong, strong enough to make him forget, or at least strong enough to make sure he didn't care about remembering. It had started coming back to him not long after his escape from the shield crash. Bits and pieces at first but then more. His old life as Bucky mixing with the things He'd done as the soldier. He almost wished the shocks would come again to take the pain back.

After a few nights of sleeping outside he'd managed to hack an ATM and get some cash, this was his first stop. He'd frequented this place back then, in his own time. It was nicer then, busier and new. He'd met Connie here, took Steve here to get his first drink since the owner was a family friend, it was the last place he visited before he shipped out.

He downed the drink, pulling himself out of his nostalgic dream. He waited for the familiar warmth the alcohol would bring. None came, he stared down at the glass. Those bastards, he thought, I can't get drunk. Those fucking evil Nazi bastards. It wouldn't stop him from trying. He pulled out a twenty and laid it on the table.

"Another," he croaked. The old bartender raised his eyebrows and started mixing another drink.

"I'm surprised, not many people I know can drink one of those let alone two. The Barnes Special is a pretty heavy hitter." Bucky froze as the words slipped from the old man's mouth, He regained his composure as quick as he could.

"Barnes Special? Like what that guy from the museum exhibit?" Bucky asked as nonchalantly as he could. He'd never really thought of them naming a drink after him. The old man poured another round, sipping a bit more before he continued.

"Something like that. We had some drinks for those guys, the Howling Commando line up. One drink for every member. Hella'va good time if you're up to it. But the Barnes special isn't named for that Barnes." The bartender's mood seemed to become much more somber. Bucky sat up and raised his cap, all his attention on the old man.

"No the Barnes Special is named after the woman who mixed it. Pretty young thing who used to come in here all the time. Before the war she was in here a lot, with a nice young man named Bucky Barnes. In love they said they were, so much so that right before he shipped out they got hitched. Nothing big no announcements, just a little ceremony down at the church, the families didn't even know, just a couple of their friends, Steve Rogers himself was there, back when he was smaller." The old man paused to take another drink. Bucky's mind burned, Connie, her dark brown hair in contrast to the white veil, borrowed from a friend's mother. Steve in his suit, too big on him, fumbling with the rings and throwing rice. He coughed.

"Then what?" Bucky asked, pulling the hat to cover his eyes.

"Well, what happened to a lot of those War romances. He didn't make it back. She lost it, cried for days. The she started showing up here again. She'd spend all her wages on drinks, crawling into the bottom of every bottle looking for something strong enough to kill the pain. Eventually she mixed this up, she said it was the only thing that made her forget. If a young man who looked close enough to him came in she'd go home with him, anything to try and make the pain go away. Nothing worked, eventually my dad refused to serve her, couldn't bear to see the misery. She bounced around a few bars then until..." The old man paused, blinking his eyes clear. Bucky sat like a statue.

"Until?" Bucky hissed.

"She ended it, used her father's old pistol. No note, none needed. We all knew why. They buried her next to him up the road. If god is truly kind then she found him up there, and they're both happy again. So we keep the drink in her memory, the only thing strong enough to make you forget."

Bucky's glass shattered in his right hand, blood falling oozing from a long cut.

"Oh Jesus. Here, put a rag on that." The old man rushed to get something on the wound. Bucky sat frozen, staring down—not at his bleeding right hand, but at the metal left—at his metallic ring finger, wondering if the ring was still around, past the rotting flesh. The old man wiped the cut, the blood had already stopped flowing, and he looked at the metal arm and at Bucky.

"You know," The old man started, "I met them all once. I was working as a busboy for dad when they came in after the ceremony." The old man stared into Bucky's eyes.

"Yeah?" Bucky replied, blinking tears out of his eyes.

"Yeah son. And I never forget a face." He moved away from Bucky, towards the door he entered from. "Don't worry about paying, it's on the house. I think you've had enough drink for the day. Stay as long as you'd like, but I'm gonna go catch the news. Oh, and the grave is by the big tree, in case you wanted to see her again." He pushed the door and vanished into the back.

Time ceased moving, eventually Bucky wiped his face, laid a hundred on the counter, and went out the door of "Lee's." It was about time he went to church.


End file.
